


Pure Serenity

by ACatCalledThunderstar7



Series: Heaven, Hell, and the Space In-between [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bugs & Insects, Character Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, It describes a scene from the fic :P, Just a descriptive setting piece i wrote, Short, it's just wheat mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29189451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACatCalledThunderstar7/pseuds/ACatCalledThunderstar7
Summary: 2 bodies lay in a field of wheat. What happened here?A short descriptive writing piece I wrote, taking place during the fic.
Series: Heaven, Hell, and the Space In-between [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071401
Kudos: 4





	Pure Serenity

Serene. That is the first word that would come to mind if you asked nearly any person to describe the field. Illuminated by the setting sun - who’s amber rays trickled over the land in a warm yet fading embrace - countless stalks of pristine, golden wheat swayed gently in the breeze that grew ever stronger as it ushered in the night. They sprawled over the land, covering the gentle hills and valleys of the sun-swept landscape with a carpet of rippling gold, an endless gentle sea that stretched from horizon to horizon - its waves broken only by the occasional dirt paths running through it, like cracks in a pristine china dish, and the scorched clearing that lay not far from the largest path, slumbering within the wheat like a blistering speck of dirt that let itself be known on the pale white of such a fine plate. The very air itself was alive with noise - thousands of insects make the coming of night known to all with their chaotic yet melodic cacophony, screeching with a thousand minuscule voices as they hid from view, only making their presence known via specks of movement at the edge of one’s vision. The wind, too, joined their chorus, sweeping across the landscape in bursts growing ever stronger, adding its whistling melody and the rustling of wheat to the orchestra. 

_‘Beware, beware, beware,’_ The wheat whispered in its thousand shaky voices, _‘A storm is coming.’_ And so it was - though the sun retreated into its celestial home, its last vestiges of light still escaped the horizon and highlighted the edge of the oncoming clouds, heralding the oncoming torrent that would soon drench the golden land. The air was not only alive with sound, but scents as well - the arid musk of dry dirt and decay swirled with the fragrance of ripe wheat - both of which were cut through with the tang of smoke, and the faintest metallic hint of blood.

 _‘Beware, beware, beware,’_ The wheat whispered once again, _‘A storm, a storm, desolation has come.’_ And yet again, the wheat did not lie - for in that scorched mark that marred the almost perfect field lay a tragedy. A ragged clearing cut into the expanse, the ground within burned and still smouldering with embers that glowed against the charred and trampled wheat with dying anger. The ground, once pure brown and adorned with a crown of golden stalks, was now black and dressed in pooling blood, it’s crown the broken bones and scattered flesh of two desecrated corpses who had been gifted the field as their final resting place. Their faces - or what was left of them - were contorted in agony, and their bodies lay broken around the clearing, torn, burnt, and eaten by some creature that had long since left it’s victims behind. Waves of odour arose from the site - the unmistakable tang of blood and flesh, the suffocating fumes of burnt bodies and wheat, and the creeping, moist smell of decay that had begun to claim the bodies of these agonised souls. The wind blew, stronger than before, buffeting the wheat and setting what scraps of their clothing was left flapping vigorously, almost as if wishing to escape this barren scene.

Serene. That is the first word that would come to mind if you asked nearly any person to describe the field. For though those two tragic victims of fate lay there, waiting to be claimed by the storms, the insects, and the ever-shifting wheat, it was not them, but the ones who bore witness to the desolation that extinguished their light, who would be victims of the chaos yet to come. As the first drops of rain splattered across the remains of the corpses’ faces, the wheat whispered once more, to the ones who had caused this; 

_‘Beware, beware, beware,’_ They murmured with quiet intensity, _‘Your storm is on the horizon.’_


End file.
